


Clair(e)voyance Ficlets

by notevenjokingfic



Series: Clair(e)voyance [5]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notevenjokingfic/pseuds/notevenjokingfic
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: Clair(e)voyance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454929
Comments: 34
Kudos: 151





	1. Clair(e)voyance: Valentine's Day

The day was shite from beginning to end. 

An uncooperative suspect. An unnecessary trip to Court where they ended up having to reschedule him. Missed lunch.

And now he was at the scene of another crime. A bloody, disgusting display of gang violence. 

Surrounded by red. A fitting end to Valentine’s Day. 

He hadn’t been able to see her all day. Which was okay so far because he had nothing for her. 

Last week she’d called it a fake holiday. 

Overrated. Annoying. A Joke.

But Jamie couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t just bravado. More bricks to the wall she continued to build so she wouldn’t get hurt. 

The wall that kept in her insecurities. 

Loneliness. Wishes. Dreams. Fantasies.

All week he drove himself crazy trying to think of what to get her. Something that she would like. That said he knew her, really knew her. 

But he was coming up empty handed. 

Claire wasn’t the flowers and chocolate type. She wasn’t the romantic dinner type. She was just as happy eating chips in a pub. Preferred it, actually. 

It wasn’t until he stepped over it, that he realized he’d found the perfect gift.

“Oi!” He caught the forensic team’s attention. “Can I have this?”

A man walked over wearing his protective gear. 

“No, you can’t have it! It’s evidence!”

Jamie pulled a face. “No, it’s not, mate. In this carnage who does it even belong to? Can ye tell wi’ any certainty?”

“Well, not right this minute, Detective, but once we test for DNA …”

Jamie lowered his voice. Leaned in towards the man. “It’s no’ like anyone’s going to notice is it? Parts everywhere. And to be sure, they’ll just bag it and burn it. Can’t keep it in evidence.”

The man was starting to look confused. And convinced. 

Jamie pressed his advantage. “Come on, man. They’ll be handed to their families in one big lump. If there’s even families to claim them.”

The man looked at Jamie skeptically. “What do you want it for?”

Jamie smiled. “My girlfriend.”

~~~

He could hear the pulsing music as he entered the Morgue.

He tried the door. 

Unlocked.

He pushed it open slowly and watched as she cleaned the last of her basins. He walked over and carefully turned down the music. 

She turned quickly.

“Oh! It’s you,” Claire smiled at him. “Where’ve you been all day?”

He smiled and walked towards her holding the bag. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sorcha.”

“Jamie…” she reached for it, then stopped.

Sniffed. 

Her brow furrowed. 

“Is that-?” 

She reached out tentatively and took the bag from him. Placed it on the nearest metal table. Slowly opened it.

She gasped.

“Jamie,” she whispered in awe.

He couldn’t help grinning. 

“You gave me,” she smiled and met his eyes. “Jamie, you gave me a heart! Oh my God, you gave me a human heart!” 

She moved fast, reaching up and hugging him tight around the neck. His arms came around her holding her close. 

“For yer wee collection,” he said, eyeing the various jars on her shelves. “Rather unorthodox as far as Valentine’s gifts go, but then again yer a wee bit unusual.” 

She kissed him then, lightly, on the lips. “It’s perfect.”

~~~

He woke up to find her straddling him again.

Peeling off her tee shirt. 

“You gave me a heart,” she whispered before her mouth met his, her tongue seeking entrance.

“Aye,” he whispered. “Ye’ve a pair now.”

She stopped kissing his jaw. “A pair?”

“Aye,” he said, taking her face in his hands. 

Looking into her amber eyes he whispered, “The first one I gave ye was mine.”


	2. Clair(e)voyance: Late

She was late.

And he was worried. 

He called her mobile. No answer. Called the Morgue. It rang endlessly. Texted. Nothing back. 

It was raining hard now. A downpour. 

He continued to pace the floor of their now shared town home. Adso, trying to get attention by winding around legs that wouldn’t stand still had gone to lie under the sofa in the storm. 

Jamie would not panic. He refused to panic.

Finally, he heard the key in the lock. He stood at the end of the hallway. Watched her enter. 

“Where in Christ’s name have ye been?” he demanded.

Damn. He sounded panicked. 

Claire looked up, surprised. “Walking.”

“Walking? Walking! So, ye didna think tae call? Answer my texts?” 

“Sorry. Phone died.” She closed the door behind her. Turned the deadbolt. 

“Died?? Died.” Jamie took a deep shuddering breath. “I thought the same of you, Sorcha.”

“Is this what it’s going to be like, Jamie? Am I to report in to you like you’re my boss? Is that what being engaged to you is going to be like now? Because I can’t go back to that. I won’t.”

She bit off each word. Harsh. Testy. 

“No. No, Claire” he said, gently, “It’s just….it’s late. And ye weren’t at work. And it started to rain, so…no. I just….I guess the cop in me took over, is all. I know all too well what can happen.”

She stood alone. 

Shoulders hunched. Shoes soaked. Hair pulled into an impossible length by curls weighted down with water. Coat dripping a ring around her on the floor.

She toed off her shoes. Dropped her purse.

“I need a towel,” she stated, and walked up the stairs, leaving a trail of water, dark, and eerily like a blood trail. 

He went into the kitchen. Put the kettle on to boil. While he waited he grabbed a towel. Soaked up the water. He picked up her sopping purse and carried it to the kitchen. Set it in the drainboard. 

He jumped when the kettle screamed. Hands shaking, he assembled the pot. Waited while it brewed. 

When he had two cups of tea, he climbed the stairs after her. 

She was in the bathroom, naked, rubbing the ends of her hair furiously. Wet clothes piled in the tub. He set their cups down on the bathroom counter.

Walking into their bedroom, he grabbed a worn t-shirt and a pair of her leggings. A pair of underwear from her drawer. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, forgoing the underwear and putting on the pants. 

He raised his eyebrows at that, then awkwardly set the panties on the vanity. She pulled the t-shirt over her breasts, the soft cotton showing the puckered nipples. 

He watched as her skin warmed, and the nubs flattened into the smooth shape of her breasts. 

He sat on the edge of the tub. Sipped his tea.

“What’s wrong?”

“Tired.”

He laughed at that. A full on belly laugh. She looked at him crossly. 

“Ye do remember I’m a detective, right? And a damn good one. Do I interrogate ye now? Here? Or do ye just tell me what’s up and avoid my nagging for the next few hours?”

“I’m late.”

“Aye, I ken that. Hours late, which is why-”

“No. Late. As in…..” she pointed towards her body. “Late.” 

“Christ. Wait. Are ye sayin’ yer pregnant?” His mouth worked in an effort to control his emotions. 

“I don’t know.”

“Weel…how do we find out? I mean…Christ, do we just WAIT?” He was horrified. “Isn’t there a blood test or somethin’? Ye kill a rabbit or…or something, yeah?”

“Kill a rabbit? Honestly, Jamie what are you on about?” That garnered a small smile. 

“Weel, that’s a thing, is it no? My Mam used to tell my Da, ‘the rabbit died’ or some such nonsense when someone was pregnant.”

Claire smiled for the first time in what felt like days. A face splitting grin that resulted in genuine laughter bubbling up from deep inside her. 

“My tough as nails cop, you can be such a fool sometimes.” She grabbed his face. Kissed him soundly. “And I love you for it.” 

Claire loved that he didn’t have all the answers, all of the time. Loved that his reaction embodied exactly the turmoil that was coursing through her. 

“So what do we do?”

“What do you want to do?” she asked, hoisting herself up to sit on the vanity.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” he admitted.

“Do you want kids?”

He was thoughtful. Considered. Quiet.

“I’m the last of my line. I’m the only son of Brian and Ellen Fraser. Part of me would love a bairn, to carry on my family’s name. Jenny is a Murray. The name dies with me.” The immortality of it all hit him. Hard. He felt his stomach drop.

Thinking about Jenny illicited another reaction. He chuckled a bit. “She’d be over the moon.”

“Jenny?” Claire asked, “the sister I’ve spoken to once on the phone? The sister who hates me?” 

“She doesna hate ye. She hates me for not bringin’ ye around.” 

They fell silent again. 

Claire played absently with her engagement ring.

She could hear the small drip of the water from her clothes running down the drain in the tub. Could hear his breath as he alternately sighed and huffed in thought. Could hear the faint noises from outside.

“And you, mo nighean donn? Do ye want kids?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I never wanted Frank’s kids. Never.” 

She caught the small twinge of disappointment in his eyes. He wasn’t Frank. He was constantly trying to remind her of that. In so many ways. 

And he succeeded.

“Now, your kids … that’s another story. That’s …. a dilemma.”

His lines around his mouth softened in relaxation.

“Jamie, while I’d love to see what yours and mine would look like, I don’t think I could raise a child, and do what I do. Being called in all hours of the day, or night. It wouldn’t be fair. And maybe I’m selfish, not wanting to give that up for a family. I’d want both, and I don’t think I could do both. If I had to choose, well …. I guess being an only child …. and an orphan …. I’ve never really honed my maternal instincts, you know?”

Silence. 

Minutes passed. 

She watched the steam curl up from her mug, not daring to move, to take a sip.

“Truth?” he said, finally.

“Always,” she responded.

“If I lived in a different time, with a different job, in a different place, then maybe. Yes. I would. But not here. Not in London as a homicide detective in this day and age. I see too much. I ken too many evils in the world to be okay with a child of mine exposed to it all. No one is safe. Anywhere. Not at school. Not at home. Not at work. On the internet.”

He watched her reaction carefully.

“Is that selfish, Sorcha?

“Maybe. Yes. No.” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They were both quiet. Jamie with his elbows on his knees, hands folded, head bent staring at the floor, sitting on the side of the tub.

Claire, legs gently swinging, hands propped behind her, arms straight, head back staring at the ceiling, perched on the vanity counter. 

“And if ye are pregnant, then? What do we do?”

Claire looked at him. His poker face wasn’t as good as he thought. She saw the spark of hope. The wisp of a dream. 

“We keep it,” she said firmly.

Relief. 

She stood. Reached behind him to retrieve a box from the pocket of her coat laying in the tub. 

Pregnancy test.

“Morning is best,” she said. 

She picked up her mug, headed downstairs. 

She rummaged through the fridge. It was a few minutes before she heard his tread on the steps.

“I’m starving,” she said when she heard him come up behind her. 

They finally settled on cheese toasties and frozen chips done up in the oven. They sat on the floor with another pot of tea to warm her. 

“I mean, what kind of mother would I be?” she said, her mouth full. “What do I say on Career Day? Hello, Class. I’m Junior’s mum, and I cut up dead bodies for a living, and sometimes they show me visions of how they died. Then, I tell Junior’s daddy, and he arrests them.”

Jamie snorted. Wiped his mouth. “ _I see dead people_ …” he mimicked in an awful American accent. 

Their laughter faded off. 

“When do ye think it happened? I mean, if it’s happened…” he asked, gesturing helplessly toward her middle. 

“Well, there was that week I was so busy at work that I didn’t get to the pharmacy for my prescription. And we….” she looked at him, guiltily.

“I keep rememberin’ that night when the nightstand drawer was empty, and ye said ye thought it’d be safe.” He shrugged. “I should have gone to the corner store. Would have taken naught but 10 minutes.” 

Jamie shook his head lightly as if to rid his mind of thoughts, and gathered their dishes.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispered as he stood, “I think ye’d be grand, as a mam.” 

She looked at him. Her whisky eyes filled up with tears. She swallowed hard.

“You’d be a really great dad,” she whispered back.

~~~

He slept fitfully, dreaming of dark haired little girls with startling blue eyes. 

Claire tossed, dreaming of red headed little boys with amber coloured eyes. 

In the morning he woke to the sound of the toilet flushing. 

He debated. Getting up to join her. Wait it out in bed. He opted to wait, arms behind his head. Eyes on the morning sun as it crept across the ceiling.

Five minutes later she crawled back into bed. Head on his chest. Legs tangled. 

“Negative,” she stated.

He held her tightly, pouring all of his emotions into the hug. Love. Fear. Disappointment. Relief. Melancholy. 

He rolled on top of her after a moment. Kissed her desperately. Nudged her mouth open with his tongue. Pushed her legs apart with his knees. Wound his fingers in her hair. 

He touched her everywhere. Aroused her quickly. Deliberately. 

In foreplay, there is a moment. 

That moment when you have to make a decision. That moment when the rational brain overpowers the irrational senses. 

Jamie pushed Claire to that moment. 

That moment a cop waits for when the person he’s interrogating is about to stand their ground, or give up. 

She lifted her hips. Writhed. Clutched. Clawed. 

At that moment he reached over. Opened the nightstand drawer. Pulled out the small foil packet. 

They stared at each other. Panting. Measuring. Warring. 

Still, he waited. A good cop was patient. 

She reached up, finally. Took the packet.

Opened it.

Case Closed. 


	3. Clair(e)voyance: It Seemed Like A Nice Neighbourhood to Have Bad Habits In"

“You grew up here?” Claire looked up and down the main street of the tiny town.

“Nah. I grew up just o’er the crest of that hill.”

“But this is…”

“Broch Morda. I went to school here, spent a lot of time here, but didna grow up here.”

Claire squinted through the fog. The cobblestones shiny from the misty rain. The old buildings casting long shadows in the twilight. 

“It’s quaint,” she said. 

Jamie laughed and took her hand. 

Down the street. Down a narrow alley. 

The houses got smaller. Older. Shabbier. Windows cracked. Then broken. 

“Jamie, where are we going?”

“Shhh, Sorcha. Trust me, aye?”

“But…”

Jamie’s long strides propelled her forward. He squeezed her hand. “Ye need not be scairt, as long as I’m wi’ ye.” He winked at her, “I am a cop, ye ken.”

Claire snorted.

One more turn and they ended up in front of a 18th Century cottage, complete with thatched roof.

It was an oasis in the sea of dispair.

_Mrs. Baird’s Bed and Breakfast._

“What’s this?” Claire peered at the sign hanging from a post. 

“Well, if we spend the night at Lallybroch, it’ll be in separate rooms. Because my sister likes her bairns to believe ye only sleep in the same bed when yer marrit. Fornication is up there with drugs and alcohol in her eyes.”

He pulled her to him, and inclined his head at the cottage. 

Running his hand across her hip, he grabbed her round arse, and lifted her against his arousal. 

“So. It seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is part of Gotham's prompt challenge.


	4. Clair(e)voyance:  Which Door?

She could hear him. _Moaning. Guttural. Pain._

She stepped over the first man. Gun shot wound to the chest. 

She stepped over an officer. She quickly checked his pulse and found the bullet proof vest had done it’s job. She would come back to him later.

Jamie first.

She closed her eyes and let the feelings wash over her. Turned her head sharply to the left, towards some stairs.

Up. She needed to go up.

Silently she climbed, her medical bag clutched tight in her hand.

Another corridor. More carnage. Two more bodies, neither law enforcement. Neither moving. 

She crept along, careful of where she stepped. She already knew she’d ruined the scene, not being gloved and gowned properly. She would lie her way out of it, then. As long as she didn’t misstep into a pile of blood, she could make it look like she followed the rules later. 

Jamie first. 

Stopping, she crouched down to the second man. Placed a hand on his chest and closed her eyes. Allowed the visions to wash over her. 

_Tied. Beaten. Alive._

Her eyes snapped open. _Explosives_. _R_ _eady to detonate with the barest of triggers._

She shook then, her mind dizzy and her stomach ready to retch. 

She could see the rooms. One safe, one set with a trip wire. She could see the wire wrapped around the handle. One turn and she would blow them both up. She looked towards the end of the hallway.

God help her.

Which door? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is part of Gotham's prompt challenge.


	5. Clair(e)voyance: Snow Day

“Dammit all to HELL!” Claire shouted in the confines of the car.

She hated driving. Hated it. 

She always used public transportation, and her townhome was not a far walk to the hospital. But today was different. Today her errand took her outside of London, so she needed to take her car. 

Jamie had offered to drive her but she insisted she could handle it. There was a light snow falling that morning, nothing really sticking to the ground. But then the day got colder, and the snow got heavier. 

And now she was stuck.

Stuck in a carpark. Back tires spinning. And she was getting in deeper and deeper. 

She dug around in her purse for her cell phone, and dialled. 

It was picked up almost immediately.

“Hey! How’s yer day? Did ye get -”

“I’m stuck.” 

Jamie smiled, and shook his head. He didn’t dare laugh. 

“Are you there?” She pulled the phone from her ear and checked her bars.

“Oh, aye. I’m here.” Jamie was trying desperately to hold it together. “What do ye need, Sorcha?” 

She’d been so insistent that morning that she could handle the weather. That she _didn’t need a chauffeur_. Saying, she’d had _a driver’s license for a long time_ , _thank you very much_ in that clipped English accent of hers. 

“I’m stuck in a car park and the back tires are spinning and I can’t get out of this. What do I do?” _God_ , she thought. _He’s going to feast on this for weeks_. She waited for him to say _I told ye so_ in that smug Scottish burr _._

“Try putting the car in reverse, back up a bit if ye can, then put it in drive, and go forward. Keep doin’ that. As if ye’re rocking the car back and a forth, and eventually ye should get some traction and get out of it.”

“I tried that.” He could tell she was pissed off. _Damned stubborn woman._

“Where are ye?” He asked, hoping she wasn’t too far. 

“Wembley.” 

“Wembley? What in the name of God are ye doing out there?”

“Never mind, Jamie. I’ll figure it out.” She hung up, feeling embarrassed and very silly. 

Thirty minutes later she was still there. She’d gotten the car to move and after yelling Fuck Yeah! about ten times as the car crawled out of its hole, she only managed to get stuck again.

She laid her head on the steering wheel and took three deep breaths. 

_You can do this, Claire_ , she told herself. _Just swallow your pride and call a tow truck._

She lifted her head. And that’s when she saw it.

The black sedan pulled smoothly into the area. The driver’s door opened, and out he stepped.

Black shoes.

Black pants.

Black jacket with the collar turned up.

As he walked toward her the strands of his auburn hair were lifted, blown back showing the strong jaw, the high cheekbones.

He looked confident. Determined. Capable. 

And sexy as hell. 

_Like bloody James Bond_.

She watched transfixed as Jamie came around to the driver’s side. _How had she never noticed his swagger?_ He opened the door, and motioned for her to get out. 

She stepped out of the car. “Jamie -”

He didn’t say a word. Just climbed into her vacated seat, and shut the door. He put the car in reverse and with one hand spun the wheel right, then left, then right again. The car responded to his touch like a starving lover. He flipped it into drive and repeated the manoeuver. Thirty seconds later her car was idling next to his. 

She’d never seen anything hotter in her life.

Jamie climbed out, silently held the door for her.

Claire stepped through the snow, walked up to Jamie and grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket. She kissed him soundly on the mouth as the snowflakes spun around them, gathering in their hair, on their shoulders, against their lips.

“I owe you.” There were dark promises in her voice.

Jamie smirked. “Oh, aye,” he drawled. “And I mean to collect.” 

She got back into the car, and let him shut the door as she put on her seat belt. He motioned for her to roll down the window, bent down to speak to her at eye level.

“Follow me, aye?” 

“Anywhere,” she vowed. 


	6. Clair(e)voyance: Jealous Jamie

Jamie signed the last report with a flourish, and checked his watch. 

“Shit!” He threw his pen off to the side and gathered up his papers, shoving them in the dossier.

He continued to swear long and loud in the confines of his office. Detective Chief Inspector was a lovely title but it came with a ton of paperwork. Paperwork that he got so deep into sometimes that he lost track of the hours. 

He was supposed to meet Claire at the hospital thirty minutes ago. He stood up from his desk while tossing the folder into a drawer and slamming it shut. He frantically searched for his keys to lock his desk.

That’s when he heard the trill of her laughter. 

Stepping toward the wide office window, desk keys forgotten, Jamie scanned the outer room, his blue eyes narrowed, searching for the woman behind that sweet sound.

He found her. In all her understated beauty, curls loose, head tilted to the side as she read the papers in her hand. She had a quiet intelligence about her, but had a habit of pouting her lips when concentrating, which only made her look both smart and sexy. 

And next to her, Detective Hughes.

Hughes, looking over her shoulder at a file folder she held in her hand. Hughes, close to her, much closer than necessary. 

Jamie inhaled deeply. Once. Twice. A third time. 

He took a step to the right to grab his coat when he noticed another one of his men openly looking at Claire, his eyes travelling her body from head to toe. His feet were on the desk, ankles crossed, as he chewed on the end of a pen. 

It was all he could do not to put his fist through the plate glass.

Jamie threw open the door of his office.

“D.C. Martin!” he shouted. 

Martin’s feet dropped to the floor. He started coughing as the pen cap he was chewing came off in his mouth and got stuck momentarily. He spit the thing out into his hand, and looked at Jamie, red-faced and wild-eyed. 

“My office. Now.”

Jamie cast a glance at Claire. _Damn woman_. She smiled, and gave him a little wave, completely oblivious to the stir she was causing. He smiled tightly, gave an awkward wave back. She turned to look at the file again. 

All eyes were on their Commander, the silence deafening. There wasn’t an officer in the room, male or female, who didn’t recognize the undercurrent in their Chief’s voice. They silently wished Martin luck while thanking God they hadn’t been the one summoned. 

Jamie raised one ruddy eyebrow toward Hughes, and threw a pointed look at him. Hughes took a step back. 

Jamie cleared his throat.

Hughes retreated further. 

Jamie waited, fingers tapping rhythmically on his thigh as he stretched to his full 6’4” height. 

Hughes walked around to the other side of the desk. Jamie nodded once, then turned to allow Martin to enter.

He shut the door softly behind him. 

“Detective Martin, I’m no’ gonna ask ye if ye ken why ye’re in here. I’m just goin’ tae say this,” Jamie stepped directly in front of his officer, bent his head slightly to look him in the eye. “If I ever catch ye looking at Dr. Randall that way again, I’ll take yer badge. Do ye understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And after I take yer badge, I’ll lock it in my desk, along wi’ my own. And then you and I will walk outside, ‘round back. And I’ll kick yer arse. Am I makin’ myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“She is a professional, and as such she deserves respect, aye?” 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Not to mention she’s my fiancée, aye?”

Martin swallowed hard. “Yes, Chief Inspector. Sir.”

“Then I’ll thank ye to watch yer step. Dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Jamie reached behind him and smoothly opened the door. 

“Oh,” he said, before letting the man through the door. “Tell the wife, hello.” Jamie couldn’t resist a parting shot.

“I will, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Visibly contrite, Martin bolted past Jamie, hastily packed up his desk, grabbed his coat, and left. 

That left Hughes.

Jamie made his way towards Claire. She set the file down on the desk and leaned over it.

 _Christ_. That arse was _fine_.

He moved up behind her. 

“What’s going on?” Hands jammed in his pockets, Jamie looked at Hughes.

“I just wondered if Dr. Randall could look at the coroner’s report for me. See if she could pick up something I might have missed.” Detective Hughes looked a tiny bit uncomfortable.

“And?” Jamie looked at Claire.

“Well,” Claire said, completely oblivious to the simmering tension, “I, for one, feel like the sodium levels in the post mortem lean towards the deceased having hyponatremia. It can affect a person’s personality, make them confused. Can also cause seizures and in some cases, death.”

She looked up then, and noticed the men.

 _Oh, Bloody Hell_ , she thought. She could almost smell actual urine from the pissing contest happening silently around her. Jamie was close, too close for how they normally behaved in public. And Hughes was trying to keep Jamie’s gaze without breaking, and sweating with the effort.

“Anyway,” Claire said, closing the folder with a snap and dropping it sharply on the desk, causing the men to turn their attention to her. “I’d ask the family about any of those symptoms. Your case may just be the result of natural causes.”

“Thank you, Dr. Randall.” Hughes picked up the file, and moved to put it away.

“No charge,” Claire quipped, moving towards Jamie’s office.

When they got inside, he shut the door, then grabbed her by the wrist before she could make her way over to a chair. She looked up at him, eyes wide. He backed her into the wall behind the door.

He placed himself in front of her, legs spread wide, hands braced against the wall on either side of her head, standing almost chest to chest.

“I didna realize ye were here,” he said, softly. 

“You were late. I figured it was best I came to find you.” She leaned back, dropping her purse and coat on the floor. “What was all that about?”

“What do ye mean?” Jamie feigned ignorance.

“I mean,” Claire said sharply, “what was that about, out there? In the office? With Martin and Hughes?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Martin took it upon himself to undress ye with his eyes. I let him know in a nice way that I’d fucking blind him if he did it again.”

Claire’s lips twitched but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a full blown smile. “And Hughes?”

“Detective Hughes may be as useless as tits on a bull, but that particular case was put to bed three days ago. He was using it just to have some of yer attention.” He watched Claire’s eyes widen at his revelation.

“Ye’ve no idea, have ye, Sorcha?” He searched her amber eyes for a hint of the knowledge. “Of how attractive ye are?”

Claire rolled her eyes, tried to push past him.

He blocked her with his body, leaned in closer. 

“I knew the minute I saw the bastard, why he was so close. Ye smell good. Ye’ve dabbed a wee bit of perfume just here,” he nuzzled her chest, “between yer breasts.” Claire stretched her neck to give him access. “It’s that scent ye keep in the second drawer, right hand side of yer desk.”

“You’ve been through my desk?” she asked, incredulous.

“I’m a detective, Claire. It’s my job to notice things. Ye’ve used it before, after a long day, when ye think I’m not watchin’.” 

Claire blushed. “Are we getting dinner, or are we going to hide behind this door all night?”

“And if we did?” Jamie tilted his head, lips hovering over hers, without touching. “What would we do?”

She could feel the heat of his breath, smell the fresh scent of his favourite flavour of gum. In the beginning Jamie’s teasing made her feel awkward. 

Not anymore. Those days were long past. 

Eyes locked on his, she reached for his zipper, and tugged. 

“Christ, Sorcha.” Jamie pushed off the wall, but was too late. Claire’s hand slipped inside his trousers, her palm slowly rubbing the length of him. “Claire. _Jesus_.” He let his head fall back while he tried to keep himself from groaning aloud.

“What? You asked what we would do.” 

Jamie tried to keep his breath even. It wasn’t working. He bent to kiss her, but she turned her head. 

“No,” she whispered. “I want to watch you.”

It was dangerous, this game. He knew that. He was playing with his reputation, with Claire’s. Right there in his office with naught but two inches of a wooden barrier between them and prying eyes. But damn, this side of Claire was one he didn’t get to see often. 

And he liked it. A lot.

Bold. Brazen. Sexy. 

She slipped her hand under his briefs, wrapped her fingers around him. 

Jamie lost all conscious thought. _Professionalism, be damned._

He anchored his hands against the wall again, and took her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath. He pushed himself into her hand, wanting to feel the pressure of every stroke, wanting to push himself to the edge, knowing he would ultimately have to deny himself what he craved. 

Claire tore her mouth from his. “I’m ravenous.” 

“So am I,” he muttered, trying to find her mouth again.

When he felt her hand retreat, he couldn’t stop the low growl that rose up in protest. 

He opened his eyes, trying to focus through the haze of desire. It was then that he realized what she was saying. “Oh. You meant food.”

“Yes.” The smile in her eyes told him she was a little drunk on her own sexual power, wanting to make this game last, to draw it out, to take it somewhere even more public. 

He pressed her back into the wall one last time. Kissed her until it was her turn to make noise, to let loose a tiny little whimper.

Jamie broke the kiss, adjusted his clothes, pulled up his zipper.

“So. Before. You were jealous,” Claire said, a slight question in her tone as if everything had just fallen into place in her mind. 

“Aye. What of it?” He watched as she absorbed his confession, watched her face go from shock, to confusion, to pleasure. It was new to her, this feeling that she was worth something in a relationship, that she was something to be desired. 

“I hope you don’t ever think -” she began.

“No. I don’t. Like I said, ye’ve no idea the effect ye have on men in general. So next time, call me when I’m late.” He straightened his tie, waiting for his erection to die off. “I dinna want ye walking into this den of hungry wolves again without me knowin’ ye’re here.”

Claire smiled. A full on smile that melted his heart for all that it meant. 

“You were jealous.” She was positively giddy with the knowledge now. 

“Get yer things, Sorcha.” He reached for the doorknob, but not before leaning close to her again, his lips a breath away from hers. 

“I’ll feed yer hunger. But when we get home, you’ll have to feed mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy birthday ficlet for the amazing balfeheughlywed!!


	7. Clair(e)voyance: The Catalogue

“What’s this, then?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Claire jumped. She never heard him come in.

She was so damn preoccupied that she’d missed the sound of the front door opening. Missed his tread on the hardwood with the squeak precisely one third of the way down.

When she turned around he was standing silently in the doorway of their kitchen.

He could have been a statue.

His eyes were focused intently on her, unblinking. His face, expressionless. He didn’t move a muscle. 

She took a deep breath, cursed herself as it shuddered into her lungs revealing her insecurity. Her weight shifted from one newly pedicured foot to the other.

His eyes flickered briefly down to her blood red toes, then back up her body. Carefully. Attentively.

The scrutiny raised gooseflesh on her skin. She rubbed her forearms in response.

She saw his chest rise as he took in a deep, controlled breath. She noticed the small twitch of the two fingers on his right hand, the sole indication that his mind was working overtime, absorbing the scene, clocking the information in front of him, memorizing details. When his eyes finally settled on hers again, they were narrowed, dark.

One ruddy eyebrow raised questioningly.

She shrugged elegantly.

He licked his lips, then glanced around the kitchen. She spun the engagement ring around her finger, a nervous gesture she’d adopted since he’d put that diamond there, and asked if she’d have him.

The drinks cupboard was open, two tumblers missing. The cutting board was on the counter, the surface wet, the smell of lime in the air. There was a small amount of water in front of the fridge, just the size of a missed ice cube that had melted.

Two things were clear. It was cocktail hour somewhere in the house. And he was decidedly overdressed.

There was only one reason for all of this.

“Ye took my meaning, then.”

Damn him. And she was supposed to be the one with the sixth sense.

“Well sussed, Sherlock.”

“Oh,” Jamie chuckled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “We’re gonna play it like that, are we? Like this is normal behaviour? Like I come home to this view a dozen times a month?”

Claire bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. He was right, and he knew it. More to the point, she knew it, too.

It started with a catalogue. A random catalogue that showed up in the post. She’d thrown it in the recycle right away, citing feminist stands about objectification and unreasonable body expectations. A couple of days later it was back. She entered the kitchen, only to find Jamie thumbing through it while eating his breakfast. He drained his coffee cup, set it in the sink, then grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. He tapped the open page twice, kissed her goodbye and left for work. Not a word was spoken. The realization that he had dug the offending magazine out of the trash had rendered her speechless. After the door shut behind him she looked at the page.

Black. Sheer. No imagination required. It was all there, revealed and revealing. The most disturbing part was that the model sort of looked like her, if she squinted her eyes. Long, dark, wavy hair. Dark eyes. Same curvy shape.

She wasn’t this woman. What the fuck was he thinking?

And yet, a tiny voice whispered, for Jamie she was this woman. He’d told her so, countless times, in the darkness of their bedroom, heated words breathed into the charged air while he moved inside her. He’d told her just as often in the bright light of day what he wanted to do to her, his voice low, and gravelly, filled with promises. He’d made love to her night after night, and each time her heavy, dirty soul was washed clean of her self-loathing past. 

She scooped up the catalogue, and stormed out of the front door, one half angry, the other half equal parts embarrassed, curious and aroused.

The idea simmered in her brain all morning as she weighed, and measured organs in the morgue. She, Dr. Claire Beauchamp Randall, hadn’t owned any real lingerie in her life. Oh, she’d had the odd pretty set of underwear that wasn’t Catholic cut and 100% cotton, but she’d never bought anything like what he’d chosen. First off, it was impractical. There was zero support in under garments like that. Secondly, it was bloody expensive. Not that she couldn’t afford it, she absolutely could, but there were better uses for her money. And third…there wasn’t a third. There was no other reason not to indulge.

Claire noted the size of the liver on her scale, then threw the clipboard to the side.

Cons laid out, she considered the pros. One, it would drive Jamie wild. Two, trying it on was free, and it might be a fun, new experience. Three, while her confidence in the bedroom was getting stronger, this might be an added boost, if it actually looked good. Four, she needed to stop body shaming herself, of course it would look good.

Five, it would drive Jamie wild.

She left work at noon with no intention of going back for the rest of the day. She was too distracted.

She knew the minute she put it on in the store that it was perfect. And by perfect she meant just enough to drive Detective Chief Inspector James Fraser wild.

Purchase in hand she’d gone one step further. A salon visit for a mani-pedi, and a full wax. She had never felt less like herself, or more excited.

Which brought her to this moment.

And that fact that DCI Fraser, while outwardly still, and quiet, was internally freaking out.

She stopped fiddling with her ring, stepped forward boldly, and presented herself to him.

Claire counted two breaths before Jamie moved, lifting his hand with agonizing slowness, letting the tips of his fingers rest lightly against the skin beneath her collarbones. His fingers hovered, barely touching her, as if he were trying to decide whether her skin would be cold or hot.

The demi cup barely contained her, the tops of her breasts spilled from the flimsy fabric, her areolas peeking out from the sheer black floral lace.

Jamie flattened his hand, smoothed it over her chest, and up to the top of her shoulder. His large hand rested there, as his index finger caressed her neck, the barest of touches, light as a whisper.

Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

His eyes flickered up to hers, while his hand traveled down, fingers slipping under the lace to cup her breast. He squeezed gently, then palmed it, rubbing so that her nipple grated against the calluses on his hand.

Without a word he let go, and stepped back.

He looked her over for a long moment before finally meeting her gaze. His mouth lifted slightly at the corner in that smirk that she loved so much, the one that said, “brace yerself, I’m comin’ for ye.”

He took a measured step to the right, fingertips brushing along the plump tops of her breasts, dipping into the cleavage, then back out again. His hand caressed her arm, his fingers encircled her wrist before letting go and continuing their journey of exploration.

When he stepped behind her, he hissed in a breath.

“Christ, Sorcha.”

The thong left nothing to the imagination. A tiny, sheer triangle at the front, held together by a series of straps that wound around the small of her back, leaving her backside bare. His hand followed the line of her thigh upwards. He cupped one cheek, then continued to walk around her while he trailed his fingers over the other. He nuzzled behind her ear with his nose, placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, then stood in front of her again.

“Ye’ve gone from Medical Examiner to Madam.”

They shared a small laugh, and a smile.

It was her turn now.

Claire reached up, and unknotted his tie. She wrapped the ends twice around her hands, and tugged, forcing his head down to meet her lips. He took her mouth in a searing kiss that left her reeling. One large hand cupped the back of her head, and she had to reach up on tiptoe to stay connected. He broke the kiss on a ragged breath, his eyes searching hers, foreheads touching as he tried to collect himself.

“You’re overdressed,” she stated, sliding the patterned silk from under his collar, and tossing it to the floor.

Eyes locked, she reached for his belt, unbuckled it. The leather made a sharp snap as it pulled free of the last loop.

It was more than Jamie could bear. He toed off his shoes, shucked off his pants and socks. Tossing them to the side he took her mouth once more, running his hands up her body, and around her back in a tight hug before sliding them over her bum. He grasped the backs of her thighs and lifted until she could lock her legs around his waist.

He took two steps toward the kitchen counter before Claire stopped him. “Upstairs,” she ordered. “Not here.”

He kissed her, hard. “I’ll take ye here first, then again in our bedroom.”

Claire grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and tugged. “I said, upstairs. Now.”

“Aye,” he breathed, even more aroused by her bossiness. “Whatever Madam wants.” He spun on his heel, and headed down the corridor.

“I can walk, you know,” she giggled.

“And relinquish my hold on this fine arse? Absolutely not.” Jamie took her mouth again, then slowly climbed the stairs, all while Claire kissed the side of his neck, nipped at his earlobe, then gently sucked on it to ease the pain.

When he got to the bedroom he let her slide down his body as he looked around. She’d outdone herself. The music was soft, a makeshift bar was set up, the sheets already turned down. A late sun glinted through the shutters making the room appear soft, and hazy.

She poured them both a gin and tonic with a slice of lime. Their glasses tinged together in a silent cheers. Claire sipped, watched as Jamie took two long swallows of his.

“Easy, Chief,” she laughed.

“Ye want easy tonight, Sorcha?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then placed the cool, wet glass against her nipple, watched it pucker. “Ye get one round of easy. The second round will be fella’s choice.”

He tipped the glass to his mouth once more, captured an ice cube. When his lips fastened onto her breast she gasped as the cold hit her nipple, then moaned with pleasure as his tongue warmed her, as it drew circles around the nub, as his teeth grazed her.

“What makes you think there will be two rounds?” she squeaked out.

Jamie took her hand and pressed it between his legs, “Exhibit A.”

He downed the rest of his drink, and moved to fix himself another.

She took the opportunity to ask him the one thing she’d been dying to know all day.

“Why this one?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It was made for ye. The front is all delicate lace, and the back looks like ye’d tie a man down, with yer stiletto at his throat. It just looked like ye, to me. Strong and sexy, but…sometimes a bit…fragile.”

He leaned against the dresser, crossed his ankles, and raised his glass in another salute. His cock strained against the cotton of his boxer briefs.

Claire licked her lips, moved towards him. Breasts grazing his chest, she reached behind him to set down her glass, then slowly dropped to her knees.

“Christ, Sorcha,” he said again, his voice raw. 

He set down his drink, and gripped the edge of the furniture while she maneuvered the briefs down his long legs. His breath was coming faster, albeit controlled. She cupped him, while wrapping her fingers along the length of him. When her tongue licked the tip of him, he grunted.

“Easy,” he warned. “I’m fit to burstin’.”

“Oh?” She looked up at him, eyes owlish, innocent. “You want easy?”

“Dinna throw my words back at me, Claire. Ye ken fine what I mean. Round one won’t go the way I’ve planned, if ye keep on with what ye’re doin’.”

“And what do you have planned?” she asked, still on her knees. She placed her mouth on him again.

The vision of Claire, dressed in lingerie that was half sweet, half sexy, on her knees in front of him was too much. He had a perfect view of her full breasts, her round arse, her curls falling down her back, messy from his touch, her lips swollen from his kisses. She was a damn bombshell, ten times sexier than any catalogue could conjure up.

He reached down, pulled her to her feet, and wrapped her in his arms. Lifting her, he kissed her fully, her open mouth meeting his. In three steps he was at the bed, sitting down with her on his lap. Tearing the straps from her shoulders, he bent her backwards and fastened his mouth on one raised nipple. He pulled on it until she moaned, bit down just enough to make her flinch, then salved it with the flat of his tongue. 

She hung on for dear life, nails digging into his shoulders, hands gripping the curls at his nape. The pain was delicious. 

He loved every bit of the way she was slowly losing control. She rocked against his arousal, pressed herself against him harder and harder. He grit his teeth, buried his face in her neck, and let her work herself into a frenzy, her whimpering, incoherent sounds begging for him to do something, anything, to satisfy her.

He reached between them, and touched her, delighted in the way she rocketed upwards, lifting her hips as he touched the most sensitive part of her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she was a vixen, a siren, a woman on the edge.

And she was his.

He could feel the heat of her, the wetness. He wanted a taste but knew he wouldn’t last that long. Instead he moved back on the bed until Claire was stretched on top of him, breast to chest. He kissed her as he reached behind to unsnap her bra, and toss it aside. He slipped a hand between her legs, moved the tiny scrap of fabric out of his way, then slipped himself inside, swallowing her noises. He let his legs fall open, as Claire’s lengthened between them. While she lay fully on top of him, he held her hips tight against his, his fingers digging into the flesh of her buttocks. 

“Easy, now,” he growled, “Nice, and easy.”

Pinned as she was, Claire rocked forward. The feel of him pressing up against her sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She arched her back, just a little. Slowly, Jamie flexed his hips upward as Claire pushed back on him. The barest movement brought her clit in contact with his pelvic bone.

“Jamie,” she whispered. “Just let me up a bit.”

“Hell no.” He held her hips firm, whispered back his refusal. 

Claire gripped the bedsheets on either side of Jamie’s head, and moved in small, tight, controlled motions. She ground against him, her pace quickening, her entire body in contact with his.

Eyes closed against the sensations she let them flood her brain, the feel of her breasts rubbing against the hair of his chest, the feel of him filling her with every push upwards of his hips. It was both too much, and not enough.

“Sorcha, slow down.” He wanted this to last as long as possible. “More Madam, less M.E.”

Her hair framed her flushed face in wild abandon, and when he looked down he could see her nipples stroke his chest, watched her neck arch, her back undulate. He watched as she rocked forwards and back, riding him in a slow, steady stroke that had sweat breaking out on his temples, down the back of his neck, across his chest.

He’d always known that making love to Claire would be as close to Heaven as he was likely to get.

When she quickened her pace, he met her stroke for stroke. She was breathless now, the small sounds growing in intensity, until she finally cried out, clenched around him, and bathed him with the force of her orgasm. Only then did Jamie throw his head back, close his eyes, and let himself go, plunging upward and into her as deeply as he could, spilling himself into the space that was made for him, his sanctuary, his solace, his home.

Claire wound her fingers into his hair, her face pressed against the side of his neck. Jamie wound his arms around her, holding her to him, peppering small kisses onto her forehead.

They woke to the sound of the phone, still wrapped in each other’s embrace.

Jamie scrambled up, looked at the incoming number.

“It’s the Station,” he said, and answered the call. 

When he finally hung up, he tossed the phone on the dresser.

“Do you have to go?” she asked, rolling onto her back, her breasts bare, that black triangle the only thing covering her.

“Aye,” he said, walking over to her.

He grabbed an ankle, and pulled her toward him. She shrieked with delight. Jamie reached down, slid the last scrap of material off her body, tossed it to the side.

“Second round, fella’s choice,” he stated.

“But you have to leave,” she reminded him.

He knelt at the end of the bed, placed a hand behind each of her knees, and dragged her closer still.

**“Open your legs,” he whispered. “I mean to be sure you’ll remember me while I’m gone.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is part of the One Quote, One Shot Book 1 challenge. The quote I was given was: “Open your legs,” he whispered. “I mean to be sure you’ll remember me while I’m gone.”


	8. Clair(e)voyance: The Winter Getaway

Jamie sat in his office at the station trying to focus on the file in his hand. He tossed it to the side having just read the same paragraph for a fifth time. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He missed Claire. 

He shook his head in bewilderment. It wasn’t like they weren’t independent people. She had a career, as did he. He should be able to go a week without her and not feel this unsettled. 

He opened up their texts. Edinburgh greeted him. She’d sent him photos of the view from her hotel room, and his heart tugged again. 

He was a good enough detective to know the motive behind his feelings. Claire was in Scotland at a Forensic conference, and he was in London. She was exploring the capital city of his country without him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They’d been up a couple of times, to visit Jenny, Ian and the kids but that was different. That was Lallybroch. 

This was The Highlands. 

And Jamie had always wanted to be the one to take Claire through the Highlands.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and pressed her number. 

“Well, hello.” Her beautiful, melodic English voice came down the line. She sounded warm, and sleepy. His gut tightened. _Ifrinn_ , how he missed her. 

“Did I wake ye?” He tried to sound contrite, even though he wasn’t sorry for wanting to talk to her. 

“No, not really. I should be up already but apparently today’s presenter is sick, and there’s no one here to take his place.” She sounded disappointed. He was elated.

“Does that mean ye’re comin’ home early?” Christ. He sounded like a fool.

“I thought about it. But I’m going to stay here and go over some of the material we were given, try to follow up with some of the other presenters, and pick their brains a bit more.” She yawned into the phone. “Some of the Doctors are going skiing. Apparently they’ve got record snow on Cairngorm Mountain.” 

Jamie froze. “I dinna think ye’ve ever told me…can ye ski?” 

“Well, I used to, when I lived in America. We used to go to Vermont. I’m not very good.”

Jamie could picture her. Snow on her lashes, wild curls blowing in the wind, or tucked under a knit cap, her cheeks red, her lips cold waiting for his kisses to warm them. 

He shook his head free of the fantasy. “Did ye have yer own equipment, Sorcha?”

“Skis, no. Just the clothes. In fact I think they’re stored in a box in the attic.” 

In that moment, Detective Chief Inspector James Fraser made up his mind. 

“Hm. Well. I’ve got to go.” He pulled his laptop open. 

“Jamie, what’s -” He cut her off.

“See ye later, Sorcha.” And he hung up. 

The first thing he did was check their calendar. She had to be back in London to testify in a case, so that didn’t leave a lot of time. The second thing he did was bolt out of the station with some barked orders at Geordie, and the firm command to _‘dinna bother me unless this place is burnin’ to the ground’_.  
~~~  
She blinked twice. 

It couldn’t be.

But it was. 

Even from across the lobby she recognized the mussed up copper hair, that swagger, and those broad shoulders. There was no one like James Fraser. No one. 

And the fact that a man in black boots, dark jeans, grey sweater, plaid scarf and aviator sunglasses was walking purposefully towards her confirmed it. 

She stepped forward as if pulled by a magnet, barely managing to excuse herself from the doctor she was speaking to. 

“What on Earth -?” She was silenced by a kiss, and a hard hand around her waist. She gripped his shoulders before being knocked off balance. 

“Jamie,” she muttered against his lips. “What are you doing here?”

He sighed, and let her go. “Weel, ye dinna have anything scheduled today. So.” He cleared his throat. “I’m takin’ ye on a wee adventure.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Claire stepped back, hands on hips. “Who are you, and what have you done with my hardened Chief Detective?”

“Something’s hardened alright, Sorcha. Christ, it’s been a week since I’ve seen ye.” Jamie jammed his hands in his pockets. “So, I decided to fly up here and surprise ye.”

“You flew?” Claire jumped as her voice echoed through the lobby. She tried again, whispering this time. “You flew to Edinburgh at the last minute?” Her DCI Fraser was not an impulsive man. “Tell me,” she teased, “Did your credit card scream in protest when you handed it over?”

“Sorcha.” Jamie narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not in the mood for her jokes. “Can we just get going, please? Pack yer things, and check out. I’ve got plans.”  
~~~  
Claire stared out the window of the car, marveling at the passing scenery. Living in London, she’d never imagined how big the sky could be. Everything about the Scottish landscape was striking, from the munros outlined against the dark grey clouds to the stillness of the lochs. Around every curve was another breathtaking view. 

It wasn’t until they climbed higher into the mountains on snow covered roads that she started to worry about Jamie’s plan. Finally, they pulled up in front of a rather posh looking resort. Claire looked around the reception area while Jamie checked them in. Suddenly the idea of cozying up around one of those large fireplaces with a bottle of wine sounded rather appealing. It wasn’t long after they got to their hotel room that a large suitcase arrived. “What’s in that?” she asked. Jamie unzipped the bag and pulled out a coat, ski pants, gloves and a helmet. He laid them all on the bed for her. 

“Here’s your under layers,” he tossed a bundle of clothes at her. “Go ahead and change.” 

“You dug these out of the attic,” she stated, sorting through the pile. 

“I did.” He dug into the bag again, pulling out more gear. “Come on! Ye’ve got a refresher lesson in a half hour.”

Which was how she found herself at the top of a mountain with an Australian ski instructor who was flirting rather heavily with her. She was quite certain he didn’t need to touch her as often as he did, didn’t need to ski backwards holding her hands, or sit so close to her on the chair lift. All that aside, she had to admit it felt really good to be outside in the fresh air instead of being stuck in a conference room. The sun felt incredible, and the view was amazing. 

Jamie enjoyed his morning while Claire was at her lesson. He put in a few solid runs. It was good to be back on skis. It had been a while. He’d felt a bit rusty at first, but it didn’t take long for him to get used to it again. Like riding a bike, really. 

He checked his watch and decided to head inside the lodge. Knowing Claire, she’d never last the entire two hours of her lesson. He took off his skis, set them on a rack, then went inside to find a table by the window.

He’d just settled in when he saw her coming up the stairs. _A Dhia_ , she was beautiful. She’d taken off her helmet, and was shaking out her dark, riotous curls. Her face was flushed and she was chatting away with the instructor. 

He stood up and placed his hands on his hips, watching her walk his way. When she caught sight of him a huge grin split her face. She turned to the instructor, and pointed at Jamie. 

The man’s eyes widened briefly, then settled into as blank an expression as he could to hide his disappointment. _Forget it, man. She’s taken,_ Jamie thought. He stepped forward to meet them. “How was the lesson?”

“She’s a natural, mate. She did really well.” The teacher turned his attention back to Claire. “ It’s been a pleasure. Look me up if you’d like another go.” 

Jamie slipped an arm around her. “I’ll take it from here, but thank ye.” He steered her toward their table. “Thought ye said ye werena very good. He seems tae think ye’re a natural.”

“He was a very good teacher.”

Jamie grunted. 

Claire wasn’t fooled. “Jealous, much?”

“Me? Never,” he said. After a beat Claire heard him mutter “Look me up if ye’d like another go.” She snorted at Jamie’s poor imitation of the guy’s accent. 

They went out again after lunch. Claire kept stopping to take pictures which made for a slower pace than he liked, but in truth he wasn’t bothered. It gave him a strong sense of satisfaction to know that he’d been the one to show her the beauty of Scotland. When they did begin to ski faster Jamie stayed behind her in case she fell, but also because it gave him a good view of her arse. 

As they were skiing down a cat track he slid up behind her, spreading his legs so that one ski was on either side of hers, and wrapped his arms around her middle. She squealed, thinking she would fall over, but quickly realized she could just relax and let him push them along. She rested her head back against him. 

Placing his mouth close to her ear he asked softly, “Did ye have fun today?” 

“Yes. It was amazing.” They glided along like that for a while, with him holding her, and she wrapped up in him. When the track ended and she needed to ski under her own power he loosened his grip a little, let her find her balance, and then cupping his hands on her backside, gave it a little push. Stopping in front of the lodge, Jamie returned their skis, and kissing Claire soundly in full view of her instructor, they went inside to get ready for dinner.  
~~~

They had a corner table where they could look out over the mountains and watch the sun set. Claire couldn’t remember a time when Jamie was this relaxed. They laughed, talked, and held hands. Touches lingered on knees, and thighs. A soft hand placed gently on the back of a neck as they leaned toward each other for a brief kiss. 

When they went up to their room Claire got another surprise. Jamie pulled out a small scrap of fabric from the suitcase and handed it to her. 

“How deep into my drawer did you have to dig for this thing?” she laughed. “First you toss me layers upon layers of clothes, and now I’m to wear two scraps of fabric and a string?” 

Without a word he went over to the windows and slid open the curtains to reveal a glass door which led out to a patio. A patio with a private hot tub. “Sorcha,” he said with a growl, “I’ve been thinking about that jacuzzi since I booked the room at 6:48 this morning. Get changed.”

With a look over her shoulder that said, ‘you don’t have to snap at me,’ she sashayed off to the bathroom.

He’d had just enough time to throw on his swim trunks, grab two glasses, a bottle of red wine and start the jets before she came out to the patio looking like sin itself. Barefoot, hair up, she stepped out into the cool night air. Jamie gave a long wolf whistle in appreciation. 

“Stop it,” she giggled, and stepped into the churning water. Sitting along the side she gave a deep groan of satisfaction. “God, this feels incredible.” 

He gave her precisely two minutes before he reached a long arm across the tub and grabbed at the ankle that was floating between them, and tugged her toward him, hand over hand. She shrieked and tried to stay above water. Finally, he got a hand around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he offered her a glass of wine.

Clinking glasses he said, “Here’s to our Highland getaway.” 

She drank, then set her glass down. Straddling him, Claire reached under the water to run her hands along the waistband of his trunks. “You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you DCI Fraser? Who knew you had this…” she hesitated for a moment, “this…soft romantic streak inside you?” 

“I’m wounded, Claire,” Jamie said. “Ye dinna think me romantic?”

“Well, yes. In a Scotland Yard kind of way. I mean, you did bring me a human heart for Valentine’s Day once.” He laughed. 

“Thank you,” she said, with a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, “for a wonderful day.” Another kiss on his jaw ,“and for all the surprises.” She kissed him again, mouths meeting. Her fingers tangled in the wet russet curls at the base of his skull. 

He smoothed a hand over her hair, pushing back the wet strands. “Surprised myself today,” he said, his eyes roaming her face, “wi’ how much I’ve missed ye. Never thought I was the type of man to need someone so much.”

He turned her around so they sat back to front, his arms holding her under the water. “And it wasna so much I missed ye in bed,” his lips grazed her ear, “which I did, no’ gonna lie.” He rested his chin on her damp shoulder. “But it was more than that. I missed yer company. Pouring ye a coffee in the morning. Sharing the day’s stories over dinner.” 

She could feel his desire for her but he seemed in no hurry to sate it. So she enjoyed the warmth of the water, the feel of Jamie surrounding her, and the ink black sky full of stars. 

“I’m embarrassing myself,” he admitted, chuckling softly. 

“Why? Because you’re talking about your feelings?” She ran her hands over his thighs. “I find it rather sexy.”

“Oh, aye?” She felt him shift beneath her, his arousal against her backside, his hands beginning to caress. She knew his desire wouldn’t be banked for much longer. Twisting her head she hooked one hand behind his neck, and brought his mouth down hard onto hers. 

He groaned. God, he’d missed her so much. 

She was a siren, a gorgeous water creature, cheeks pink from the steam, and the day’s exercise. She turned to face him, clenching her thighs around his hips so she didn’t float away. Reaching around she untied the strings of her top and tossed it aside. He sat forward, lifted her slightly out of the water and fastened his mouth onto her breast. She tasted hot, and salty. Slipping a finger under her bikini bottom, he tested her. Even in this water he felt how ready she was, how slippery. Lifting his hips he yanked down his shorts and kicked them free. Mouths fastened, he slid down her bottoms. She locked her ankles behind his back and pressed herself against him. Their hands were everywhere, reacquainting themselves. Distance was an enemy to be beaten, erased. 

Jamie lifted her again, and slowly lowered her onto him. He swallowed her gasps and moans until he joined her with a few of his own. They struggled between the urge to go quickly, and the urge to make it last. 

In the end, desire won out and they tumbled over the edge together. 

When they could move again, Jamie extracted himself from Claire’s embrace, and stood. She watched the water cascade over his naked body, wondering how soon she could have him again. He disappeared into the bathroom and came out toweling himself off. He started the fireplace, grabbed a robe from the edge of the bed and returned to the hot tub, holding out a hand for her. 

“Come, Sorcha. Lie wi’ me. I’ve missed holding ye close.”  
~~~  
The next morning they headed back to the city. 

“Tell me that was the best getaway ye’ve ever had,” he said, with that half smile she loved so much.

“Meh. It was okay.” She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Come on. Ye loved it.” He risked a quick glance but she was looking out the passenger window.

“It was fine, really. It’s just, well, now I won’t have any answers about error rates in DNA analysis.” She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.

“Are ye sayin’ that ye would have preferred a chat with a boring presenter over a scorching hot night of sex in a hot tub wi’ me?” 

“I will admit, I did like you finding me my very own Australian hunk.”

“What the FUCK?” he exploded. 

“You were so jealous,” she teased. “Admit it.”

“I will not.” She could see him roll his eyes behind the aviator glasses as he drove towards the airport. 

“I love you, Jamie,” she said. And she meant it. 

He reached over and grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “Ye own my heart, Sorcha.” 

He waited a moment. “Now, tell me it was the best getaway ye’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is part of the Lallybroch Library's Holiday Exchange over on Tumblr. The prompt was from Holdhertightandsayhername.
> 
> Writing prompt! Modern AU (or canon compliant, actually!): Claire and Jamie go skiing (bonus points if one of them breaks something).


End file.
